Happy Ever After (33 page)

‘Yes, now that all of my children are reared and able to fend for themselves. I would never have gone looking for a divorce with a young family,’ Juliet said soberly.

‘Well, times are different now. I can afford to get a divorce—’

‘I’m not talking about the financial aspect, dear. I was thinking of the effect it would have on Melissa.’

‘Saint Connie raised Debbie on her own,’ Aimee pointed out sarcastically. ‘She seems to have done OK.’

‘Yes, but don’t forget Connie worked her hours to be at home when Debbie was finished school; you won’t be able to do that with a demanding new job. And, from what you told me, with the events leading up to the wedding, there was a lot of bitterness and resentment on Debbie’s part. So, remember that when you’re thinking of getting divorced. And another thing – Connie is a good person, Aimee; you shouldn’t mock her and look down your nose at her. She and Karen have been incredibly kind to me these past few days. In fact, I stayed with them last night rather than have to stay under the same roof as Ken. I’ve just had breakfast with them, and they’ve left me here to relax while they went up to El Zoco to get some groceries. They’ve told me to stay as long as I like. Connie Adams could teach you a thing or two,’ Juliet said crossly.

‘Look, I have to go. I’ll talk to you soon, and please don’t discuss what I’ve told you with those two,’ Aimee said coolly, unwilling to have to listen to any more laudatory words about Barry’s ex. It was bad enough being lectured by her mother about her responsibilities as a wife and mother, without having to listen to Connie being praised to the skies. She wouldn’t be jaunting off to Spain with Melissa to listen to that sort of rubbish, she decided, hastily revising her plan.

‘I’ve no intentions of talking to anyone about you. I’ve enough to worry about myself,’ Juliet said stiffly, and hung up.

Thoroughly disgruntled by her mother’s attitude, and the fact that she had no one to share her good news with, Aimee got out of the car and marched into the marquee, ready to pick a fight with anyone, if everything wasn’t as she’d requested. How had Connie Adams found out that she was pregnant? When had Melissa said it? Where had she said it? Why hadn’t her daughter mentioned that she’d spoken to Connie? She’d give her a good telling-off when she got home later. Melissa had no business discussing their personal matters with strangers. Because, as far as Aimee was concerned, Barry’s treasured ex-wife
was
a stranger, and one she wanted little or nothing to do with.

Lily neatly placed the copy of her will, her post-office-savings book and her sheaf of bank statements in her handbag. They would stay there until she felt it was safe to put them back in the drawer that she usually kept them in. She looked around her bedroom. It was neat and tidy, smelling fresh and clean with beeswax polish. Her bed, with its gleaming brass bedstead, was covered in a cream, lavender and green patchwork quilt that picked up the sage-green and lavender paintwork of her room. It was a soothing room, bright in the morning but airy and cool in the afternoon and evening, the sun having moved around the back, to Judith’s side of the house.

She’d got a start when she’d read Tom’s note to say that he and the painter were arriving this morning. She couldn’t decide whether to tell him that she didn’t want the painting job done. It seemed the least stressful way to go, but the two bedrooms could do with a lick of paint, she reasoned. And why should Judith have to go to the trouble of getting it done? The Lord only knew how long it would take her to recover fully, mentally as well as physically. Lily knew fine well that getting the bedrooms painted would give Tom a perfect opportunity to snoop, especially if she was out visiting Judith, hence the new lodging place for her papers.

Why had he zeroed in on the bedrooms and not the hall stairs or landing, or her sitting room? She was right to be suspicious, she told herself as she gathered together the items she knew he would be particularly interested in. Her son had made it clear over the years that he expected an equal share in her estate. He had done his best to ascertain had she made a will, going so far as to offer to bring her to his own solicitor. As if she’d be stupid enough to use his solicitor, she thought crossly. The pair of them could be in cahoots. All those rogue solicitors she kept hearing about on the news made her thankful for the stalwart support of Mr Martin.

She had her own solicitor, she’d informed Tom, and her private business was exactly that – ’private’, she’d reiterated firmly. She remembered how he’d come to visit her in hospital when she was getting her cataract done and bluntly asked her had she made a will, putting the fear of God in her that she might die under the knife. He was avaricious and untrustworthy, and the last person she would turn to if she was in trouble. Wasn’t that a sad state of affairs between a mother and her only son, Lily thought sadly, wondering was it her fault that he had turned out to be such a disappointment. Was it because she had been so self-obsessed, always worried about herself, always nervy and agitated? Had Cecily and Tom learned to think only of themselves because that was what they had learned from her? Lily felt an unwelcome pang of guilt.

Judith had turned out to be a good and unselfish human being, and she’d had the same rearing as her siblings, Lily argued with herself as she stood at her bedroom window, staring out unseeingly. She shouldn’t and wouldn’t take all the blame for his faults. If he had any sense of decency, he’d see that Judith was more than entitled to a roof over her head. If he was the one who had stayed, she would have done her duty by him too. Tom had no idea of what she was worth financially, and he certainly wasn’t going to find out in the next few days if she could help it.

She straightened the folds of her lace curtains and walked out of her bedroom. Houses, land and savings caused such family rows at funerals. Her own grandmother had signed over a house to Lily’s uncle, not realizing what she was doing. When she discovered that she wouldn’t be able to leave the house to all of her children to be sold and the proceeds divided out when she died, solicitors had been called in on both sides, and a legal battle that had cost a fortune had followed. Her grandmother lost the court case, and the rift that ensued had never been healed. Well,
her
wishes would be followed, Lily vowed, and her wishes were that Judith got the house. She’d lived in it for most of her fifty years, she’d taken care of Lily, and Ted when he was alive, and she was entitled. Tom felt he was
owed
his portion, by merely being her son. He was owed nothing except what she wanted to give him, and that wouldn’t be much.

She was going to play a smart game with him. If he tried to get the better of her, he’d come to realize that he’d picked on the wrong person to try to trick. She would let the painting of the bedrooms go ahead, but she would be vigilant at all times. This painter fellow might be in Tom’s pay, with orders to find out as much as he could. She wouldn’t put anything past her son, from what she knew of him. If she was happy the way the bedrooms turned out and happy with the painter, she’d suggest getting the rest of the house painted. It would be done before Judith moved out to her own place, because Lily knew, as sure as grass grew green, that once Tom realized his elder sister had been favoured financially, Lily might never see sight nor sign of him again, and there’d be no more offers of house painting – or any other house renovations or maintenance, for that matter. She might as well play him at his own game and get as much out of him as she could. If he could be devious, so could she.

‘Morning, Ma. I missed you yesterday – did you get my note?’ Tom asked, picking his nose with his thumb as he sat at his desk with his feet up.

‘I got your note. Yes.’ Lily was always rather formal on the phone.

‘So if we head over in the next hour you’ll be there?’ he queried.

‘Yes. I will.’

‘Grand, I’ll see you then.’ Tom replaced the receiver of the landline, picked up his mobile and dialled a number. ‘Right, Jimmy,’ he said to the man at the other end of the line, ‘I’ll meet you at the address I gave you at –’ he glanced at his watch – ‘ten thirty, and bring your colour cards and brochures. You’ll understand if the ma is a bit pernickety, that’s just the way she is. Take no notice. Cheers.

‘Brenda, I’ll be gone for the morning. Direct any calls you can’t deal with to my mobile, and make an appointment for me to see my investment advisor asap,’ he directed his secretary as he headed at speed out of the office.

Three-quarters of an hour later he stood at his mother’s door in Drumcondra, noting that a house at the end of the road had been sold. He’d check out how much the owners had got for it. Property slump or not, it hadn’t stayed too long on the market. A good sign. Drumcondra was a prime location, recession or not, he observed, feeling more cheerful. By the end of this week he was hoping to have a good idea of his mother’s finances and see how the wind lay in relation to the will. It would be reassuring to know just how much of a safety net he had coming to him. If he found that he wasn’t getting what he expected, he’d take legal advice on the matter and keep badgering his mother until she saw sense. He had his opportunity to ingratiate himself with Lily now that Judith was in hospital.

‘Morning, Tom.’ Lily was uncommonly cheerful when she opened the door to him. It was amazing, he reflected as he took in her smart appearance and her bright eyes; Judith’s accident had been the makings of her. Even her demeanour was different. Her shoulders were straighter. That pinched, worried expression that she habitually wore was less evident. She had colour in her cheeks from being out and about. She didn’t look like a woman in her early seventies. She could easily live for another fifteen years and, knowing her, she would, just to keep him waiting. He brushed the thought away impatiently.

‘Jimmy, the painter, is on his way. He’s bringing colour cards so you can choose what paint you want,’ he said, following her into the kitchen. Two china cups on saucers, a bowl of sugar cubes, a milk jug and a plate of biscuits were laid out on the small square table with its floral oilcloth. No cream sponge, he noted, disappointed.

‘I think I’ll go for the same colours that we have, in both our rooms – ochre and cream in Judith’s, and sage green and lavender in mine,’ Lily said as the doorbell rang and she hurried out to answer it. A gangly man with a mop of white hair stood in paint-spattered overalls at her door. Tom heard Jimmy greet his mother with a friendly, ‘Howya, Missus Baxter. I see Tom’s here already.’

‘Hello, Jimmy, good timing.’ Tom went out to the hall. ‘Ma, this is Jimmy, the best painter in the country.’

‘Hello, Jimmy, will you have a cup of tea?’ Lily said politely, putting her hand in his outstretched one. He shook it gently, and his blue eyes twinkled at her as he followed her into the kitchen. ‘I see you have your china out, just like my granny. She only drinks tea from china cups. She’s a lady too.’ He smiled down at her.

‘Is that so? Tea tastes much nicer from china, I find,’ Lily said as she went to switch on the kettle.

‘Er . . . Can we just have a look at the rooms first so we can get ourselves sorted?’ Tom interjected hastily. Jimmy was a good painter but a real gasbag when he got going.

‘Certainly, certainly,’ Jimmy agreed, standing back to allow Lily to precede them up the stairs. To Tom’s surprise, his mother made her decisions quickly and decisively. No dithering like the old days.

‘Umm, I was thinking that I should get a key cut . . . you know, in case you weren’t here to let Jimmy in. Or if there were any problems and you were in the hospital,’ he said casually, not wanting to seem too eager.

‘Oh, there’s no need for that, Tom,’ Lily said firmly. ‘I’ll be here to let Jimmy in if he comes in the morning. And if he comes in the afternoon, I can arrange my visiting times to suit him. Judith’s a private patient, don’t forget. I can come and go as I please,’ she reminded him.

‘All the same, it would be handy for me to have a key.’ Tom tried to keep his tone light.

‘I don’t see any need for you to be bothering about getting keys cut. You’ve enough to be doing. Now, Jimmy, when can you start?’ Lily turned her back on Tom and faced the painter.

‘I can start this afternoon, Missus Baxter. I just have to buy the paint, and that won’t take me long now that I know what you want. Is that all right with you, Tom?’ Jimmy turned to him, bushy eyebrow raised.

‘Fine,’ Tom muttered, thoroughly wrongfooted.

‘Come and have the tea,’ Lily invited, waving imperiously, as if she were the chatelaine of a grand mansion rather than a pensioner living in a redbrick in the suburbs. She gave herself such airs and graces sometimes, Tom thought irritably, annoyed that she’d rebuffed him when he’d tried to offer advice on the colour she’d chosen for her bedroom. ‘Hush, Tom, I know what I want,’ she’d said sharply, as if he were ten years old rather than the successful, property-owning businessman that he was. Well, she might know what she wanted, but he knew
exactly
what he wanted too. But, the way things were going, he might never get a chance to have a good poke around, and it was going to cost him. Painters didn’t come cheap these days, and he couldn’t very well turn around and say, ‘
You can pay for this yourself, I’ve changed my mind
.’

‘Let me go in front of you, Missus Baxter, a gentleman always walks down the stairs first, in case the lady trips,’ Jimmy said gallantly.

‘What lovely manners.’ Lily flushed with pleasure. ‘You remind me of my late husband, Ted. He always walked ahead of me down the stairs. A man with manners is hard to find these days,’ she said, pointedly glancing in Tom’s direction.

‘My granny insisted on good manners. We were reared to it,’ Jimmy said cheerfully, as he loped down the stairs.

Lickarse brown-noser
, Tom thought, wondering how he was going to achieve his goal. He didn’t want to be too pushy about the key. He wouldn’t like to raise the painter’s suspicions either, especially if he did get the chance for a snoop. Jimmy was a real salt-of-the-earth Dubliner type, the sort that respected the elderly. He might not be too impressed if he caught Tom poking around his mother’s bedroom and riffling through drawers.